He went on to say that Claire would tell Porter that she herself had hired Anthony Quintana to look into Roger's financial dealings at the company. Roger was dead now, but his crimes, if any, would survive him. Claire would say that Mr. Quintana didn't expect to find anything, but his investigation would at least allay Porter's fears. As cover stories went, it wasn't too bad.
"I noticed an odd thing today," Anthony said. "Porter slipped going up the stairs to the bridge and his brother did nothing. I believe there is more malice in this family than Claire will admit, even to herself. She won't accuse anyone, but she will open the door. That's all I can ask of her."
Anthony turned off the recorder and idly watched the green interstate signs pass overhead. He didn't want to talk into this damned machine. He wanted to talk to Gail—the woman she used to be, before she turned into a chilly imitation of herself. He wanted that woman in the passenger seat. She would have understood what he wanted to say. She would have cut through to the point.
He wondered what would happen if he could play back the tape of their last day together and stop it before it went bad. They had awakened at dawn in a bed upstairs in his grandfather's house. He had felt her body beside him and pulled her closer. Had it been too rushed? She hadn't complained. Later that day, dozens of family and guests had converged on the house and the grounds, and then suddenly! She had run away, pushing through the gate, leaving the party, everyone watching. He'd run after her onto the golf course, demanding that she come back, finally begging, but by then she was out of control, no reasoning with her. That had set him off, and there had been nothing left but a smoking crater in the earth. No, the tape would have to be rewound more than a day. A week? A month?
Farther still. To before they had bought the house on Clematis Street. Yes, back to that point. She hadn't been enthusiastic, but he had wanted it, never mind the tens of thousands of dollars of repairs it had needed. An old house on a shady street, with tile floors and cool patios. Even fireplaces upstairs and down. He had talked her into it, then had let her spend everything she had, money she shouldn't have spent, trying to keep up with him. It had become a battle, a contest with two losers. He should have known.
He picked up the recorder. "I told Claire that you're working with me—or rather, you're working for Bobby Gonzalez. I said you'd acquired him as a client through the ballet, and I mentioned your mother's name. She knows Irene, and I believe that this helped put her on our side. As far as I know, none of the other Cresswells is aware that you're representing Bobby. Claire said she wouldn't tell them. I believe this includes her husband."
PAUSE.
RECORD. "Next weekend the family and a few friends will go out on the company yacht and scatter Roger's ashes at sea. It will be a small group. Claire suggested that you come too."
STOP.
Anthony rewound and replayed, going back and forth until he found the point just preceding Next weekend. . . . His finger hovered above Record. He could press it and erase any thought of Gail's coming with him. He could tell her about it later. Do a memo.
But his finger moved over to Rewind, and the tape went backward, picking up speed until the beginning, where it stopped with a sharp click. He ejected the cassette and slid it-into his breast pocket.
Chapter 15
As Dave was leaving Irene's house on Saturday, after dropping Karen off with her suitcases and bags, Irene ran out onto the porch after him and invited him to Sunday breakfast. He glanced at Gail. Quickly recovering, she smiled and shrugged. "Great." Her mother would have offered him the pull-out sofa in the den if he hadn't mentioned he was staying with friends. Selfishly, Gail wanted Karen all to herself. They spent the rest of the day with Irene looking at souvenirs and snapshots, trying on sarongs and shell jewelry, and catching up after a long month away from each other.
Just past eleven years old, Karen still had no hips, and her chest was flat, but the summer had made her glow. Giggling, she told Gail about the French Canadian boy she had met at the marina. Soooo cute. His parents owned a sailboat, and they'd be back to the islands next summer. He wanted to e-mail her. Could she write back? Could she? Karen fell asleep on Gail's bed, and the two of them slept curled up together.
On Sunday Irene fixed Karen's favorites—pecan waffles and bacon. She squeezed fresh oranges and opened a jar of homemade calamondin jam for the toast. Red-haired and sunny in a yellow dress with blue flowers, she fluttered around the kitchen like a brightly plumed bird, then settled down across from Karen, who chattered away about the things she had seen.
Gail gazed at her daughter. How beautiful she was. Sunstreaked brown hair. Long limbs, firm and tanned. Gail's eyes had some gray, but Karen's eyes were sky blue, like her father's, and her nose was his, and her square jaw and straight brows.
Dave dredged a piece of waffle through a pool of maple syrup. "Wow, Irene, I haven't eaten, like this in years."
Not years, Gail replied silently. It had been Christmas a year and a half ago, the last one they'd spent together. It hadn't been much different from this morning, except that the topics of conversation had changed. Gail could almost imagine the scene after brunch: She and Irene would tidy the kitchen. Dave would be on the sofa, eyes closed, head back, the sports section sliding to the floor.
When the talk had run down, and Karen had begun to squirm in her chair, Irene reached for Dave's plate, then Gail's. "Does anyone want some more coffee? We could take it out on the back porch. It's not that hot today."
Dave stretched and looked at the black dive watch circling his wrist. "I would, Irene, but I told my folks I'd drive up there this afternoon. I'd better get going. This was super."
Gail said, "Would you like to take a walk with me?"
Their eyes met across the table. Knowing each other for sixteen years filled in the blanks. He said, "Okay, sure."
She smiled at Karen. "Sweetie, why don't you help Gramma clean up?"
They went out the front door, and the screen clicked shut behind them. The striped cat lying on the porch glider stopped licking its paws and watched them take the brick path to the tree-shaded sidewalk. Belle Mar was near downtown but walled off for security. Some of the houses were big two-story things with soaring roofs, but most were like Irene's, a ranch style about forty years old, getting a bit mildewed.
Gail had met Dave in college. He'd been two years ahead, a business major on a tennis scholarship. They'd married after her graduation, and Karen had come along midway through law school. Their marriage hadn't been passionate, but she'd been too busy with her career to be bothered by that. Too busy to notice Dave drifting away. With some effort she might have pulled them back together, but it was already too late. She had met Anthony Quintana, who had wanted her with a force she was incapable of withstanding. Looking back on it, she wondered if she hadn't been crazy, falling for a man of such extravagant passion.
Irrational jealousy had been the dark side of desire. He had feared that Dave would use Karen to lure Gail back, so he had ruined him. He had secretly arranged the failure of Dave's business and at the same time, a job offer at the other end of the Caribbean. That would have been bad enough, but a child had been separated from her father. It had been this harm to Karen, more than anything, that had shone a light on the truth: Anthony Quintana was remorselessly selfish, shamelessly cruel. Love had been a silken black mask over Gail's eyes.
The sidewalk led to a little park at the end of the street, a quarter acre of palm trees and grass on the bay. Gail leaned on the railing and looked out at the small islands between the mainland and Miami Beach. Dave waited. A patient man, he didn't push to know what had brought them here.
Gail said, "How's it going at the resort? Are you all right?"
"Sure. I like my job, the people I work with. They're talking about moving me up from marina manager to assistant resort manager. I'd be making twice the money, and working about four times as much, but the benefits are good."
"I'm glad. I wish you hadn't lost your business
here."
"C'est la vie. A deal falls through, no point crying over it. I'm okay. Yeah, it took some getting used to, and I miss Karen, but other than that. . . . Well, I'm about as happy as I've ever been."
"Scout's honor?"
He held up two fingers.
A row of coconut palms made moving shade on benches facing the water. Gail sat down and Dave sat beside her.
"So. What's up? Everything okay?"
"I'm pregnant."
For a few seconds his face was frozen, waiting for some clue how to react. "No kidding."
"Completely unplanned," she said.
"Wow." He made an uncertain smile. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. I keep making appointments, but things keep coining up, and I have to cancel. I have another one for Wednesday. Maybe I'll be car-jacked on the way, or Karen will get appendicitis. I shouldn't have told Mother. The way she looks at me. She doesn't have to say a word, she just gives me the look."
"Jesus. Does Quintana know about it? He doesn't, does he?"
"Am I wicked?"
Dave shook his head. "No. On the other hand, he could help out. I mean, if you decide to keep it. Are you . . . asking me for an opinion?"
"I suppose I am, since this involves Karen, too. She's been through so much already, and this would be a major disruption in her life. She'd feel pushed aside. And I have to ask myself what kind of example I'm setting as a mother. She looks to me for how to behave. In a few years she's going to be dating. She'll want to have sex, and how can I legitimately tell her not to?"
"Because you're thirty-four, you were engaged, and this was an accident. Gail, I think she can figure it out."
"What about my practice? Just when I'm getting started again, I have this to deal with. Having another child right now would be the most irresponsible thing I could do."
"You're only thinking of the negatives."
"What else is there?"
"Karen might think it's neat." He smiled, and the lines deepened at his eyes. "A new brother or sister? Showing it off to her friends? Bossing him around?"
"Oh, Dave."
"Well . . . you always wanted another kid."
"Like this?" She laughed and dropped her head back. Above her, in slow motion, the huge palm fronds shifted in the breeze.
Dave patted her hand. "If you didn't want it, you wouldn't be talking about it. Would you?"
She closed her eyes. "I do. I don't. Oh, God, I don't need this now."
He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His thighs were muscular and tanned, the hair lightened by the sun. "I'm sorry we didn't have another kid."
"Are you?" Gail smiled. "We did try, didn't we?"
"I guess it wasn't meant to be."
"What a mess. I'm so sorry for everything, Dave."
"Hey, come on, it's nobody's fault."
She leaned against him. His back was warm from the heat. "Do you still care about me? A teeny bit?"
"Sure I do." He shifted to put an arm around her, then kissed her forehead. "I always will, you know that."
"What if I came to St. John? You asked me once, after Anthony and I broke up, and I said no. I thought I could never leave what I had—a job, my mother, friends, all the familiar places I go, the things I do." She pulled away far enough to look at him. "I was afraid, maybe that was it. Afraid of change, of losing whatever I had. But I've found I really didn't have so much after all."
"You'd have the baby there?"
"Why not? This is so obvious! Nobody would care who I was, would they? Nobody would talk. Karen likes St. John, and she'd be closer to you. Charlene Marks could take over my cases. I have enough saved to make the move, and I could work there— it's U.S. territory. But not law, something new. A business. I'm good at that. Maybe we could start a business together."
He was staring at her, a crease between his brows.
Laughing, she held up her hands. "I'm not saying we'd get married again. A lot has happened. We'd have to take our time ..." Her words trailed off, and she managed a smile. “It would be hard, wouldn't it? Another man's child."
"It's not that, Gail, I swear. The thing is ... I've got to be up front with you. I met someone. We've been seeing a lot of each other. She owns a gift shop near the resort. Her name's Lori."
Gail looked for something to say. 'That's . . . wonderful. It is. Really. Is she nice? Of course she is, what a stupid question."
He turned on the bench to face her. "But everything else, everything you said, it's a possibility. A definite possibility."
"I'm so embarrassed—"
"No, no, think how good it would be for you and Karen both. And the baby." Dave took her hands. "St. John is so peaceful and green. It's half national park, so it's never going to get overbuilt like St. Thomas. The job market isn't great, but we could find you something. I'm sure of it."
"What would your girlfriend have to say about your ex-wife moving to town?"
"She wouldn't mind."
With a little laugh, Gail said, "Only an idiot would let you get away with it."
"No, no, everything's different there, I'm telling you. So laid back and easy. The people are friendly. There's no crime. You don't need a car. You don't need fancy clothes. There's nothing much to spend money on. If you raise a kid there, you get him away from this maniac consumer society. You don't have a heart attack if he goes out to play. Irene could come visit. She'd love it, all those little gift shops. She could wear her sarong and straw hat. Listen. I'm going back next Sunday. Why don't you come down with me? Check it out, see if it's what you want to do. You know. Before you decide on anything else."
After a second or two, Gail said, "I'll think about it." She stood up, leaning down for a second to hold his face and kiss his cheek. "Thank you. Come on, let's go back. Don't mention this to anyone, all right?"
They started toward the house. Round black berries from the ficus tree crunched under her sandals. A small gray lizard scurried on delicate toes into the grass.
''Could we ever have made it work? Our marriage, I mean. If we'd been wiser, or more patient, or ... something."
"You know, Gail, one thing I've learned is, the clock doesn't go backward. You just do the best you can based on what's in front of you."
Gail and Karen waved from the front porch as the rental car backed out of the driveway, and Dave tooted the horn. An ache formed in Gail's throat, and she took deep breaths until she was sure it wouldn't work into anything more. The car disappeared around a bend in the street.
"Are you going to miss him a lot, sweetie?"
"Sure, but I am soooo glad to be home." Karen turned her face up. "Can I go over to Anita's and watch a movie? She asked me to. Okay? Mom, it's so boring sitting around talking all day. No offense."
"Well, if you're soooo bored . . ." Gail kissed her. "Sure. Have a good time. I can find something to do with myself for a couple of hours."
When Karen was gone, Gail looked in her organizer for the phone number Diane Cresswell had given her. She had planned to go see her early on Monday, but this would be better. She sat on the side of her bed and made the call. Diane was at the cottage, and she told Gail to come around one o'clock.
In exchange for legal advice about a portrait, Gail would see the place where Roger Cresswell had been murdered. Gail thought briefly about telling Senor Quintana about it, but dropped that idea. He might want to come along. She found a notebook and pen, then went into the kitchen to fix herself a glass of iced tea.
Irene was on the back porch reading the newspaper and sneaking a cigarette. Gail could see her through the sliding glass door.
Two days ago Gail had told her about seeing Anthony Quintana. She wouldn't have mentioned it at all if she hadn't needed to know about the Cresswells. Irene had promised to find out what she could, but she'd been more interested in Anthony. What had he said? How had he acted? Gail had told her that nothing had changed between them, and the sooner this case was over, the better.
Ga
il slid open the door, and Irene hurriedly crushed out her cigarette as if Gail hadn't already seen it. On the patio, hanging baskets and big terra cotta planters of palms and bougainvillea cut the glare on white decking tile. Ceiling fans spun briskly, making a breeze. Water poured from the mouth of a decorative frog into the pool, and patterns of light danced on the screen.
Irene was wearing lime green half-glasses she had picked up at a gift store in Key West. A bit much with the red hair, but Irene had once said that God never intended everything in the world to be beige. She looked over the top of the arts section. "Did you and Dave have a nice walk?"
Gail put her notebook and pen on the patio table. "Lovely. We caught up on Karen, and he told me he's doing well. He's happy."
"He does seem to be." She turned a page. Her eyes were fixed on Gail.
Carrying her iced tea to the pool, Gail kicked off her sandals. She went down the steps at the shallow end till the water reached her knees. "Yes, I told him I'm pregnant.”
The newspaper slowly sank to Irene's lap. "And?"
"And he was understanding and sympathetic. We discussed how it might affect Karen. Dave is a friend. I've known him all my adult life."
"You're not thinking of going back to him, are you?"
Gail laughed. "Of course not." She swung a foot through the water, which bubbled and curled.
"Be careful, honey. When a woman gets desperate, she grabs at whatever seems to make sense, whether it does or not. Dave Metzger is a sweetheart, and I love him to pieces, but that old saying about any port in a storm? It ain't so."
"Don't be so dramatic," Gail said. "You make me sound like Little Eva crossing the ice. I talked to Dave because I wanted his opinion about Karen. There's bound to be gossip, and kids would say things to her. Girls her age are so catty. I don't want her to suffer because of my mistake. I just won't allow it."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. People don't care. When I was young, it would have been a scandal, but not now. Where did you get such a conservative streak?"
Suspicion of Malice Page 18
